


Through Distance and Time, I'll Be Waiting

by LadySolitaire83



Series: Scarves and Love [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Humor, Jealous Sherlock, Male-Female Friendship, Post-Reichenbach, Romance, Sherlolly - Freeform, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 15:46:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySolitaire83/pseuds/LadySolitaire83
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly hasn't heard from Sherlock in a while. She's worried sick, but she still meets John for coffee. What happens when John tries to ask Molly out on a date? Will she say yes? And will Sherlock find out?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through Distance and Time, I'll Be Waiting

**Author's Note:**

> Ta da! Here's Part 3 of the "Scarves and Love" series. My apologies if you're looking for the start of the "experiment". That would be Part 4. Hehe. Hope you enjoy this one!
> 
> I own nothing. Everything belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC, Steven Moffat, and Mark Gatiss. If I owned Sherlock and Molly Hooper, then there would be a lot more Sherlolly in the show. All mistakes are mine. Reviews and constructive criticism are welcome.

John was late.

Sitting in the middle of a café around the corner from St. Bart's, Molly glanced at her watch for the tenth time that afternoon. _He should have been here fifteen minutes ago_ , she thought as she pulled out her mobile.

Hey. We're still on for coffee, right? - xMolly

She exhaled in relief when his reply arrived.

Just ran late at the therapist's office. On the way. Sorry! - JW

She was typing her reply when he entered the café. The smile on his face belied the depression brought on by Sherlock's death. Smiling back at him, she rejoiced at the small improvements on the former army doctor since he sought treatment several months ago. She rose and hugged him when he reached the table. "Hi, John. How are you?"

"Good, good, thanks." He kissed her on the cheek before he let her go. "How are you?"

She giggled as she sat down. "I'm doing well, thank you. Did you talk the ear off your therapist?" she teased, which made him laugh.

A waiter appeared to take their orders before the still chuckling John could answer. "I kind of did," he replied after the waiter left. He sobered after a moment, but a faint smile remained on his lips. "We, uh, talked about Sherlock today."

She felt a stab of pain in her chest. She reached across and squeezed John's hand. _Hang in there, John. He's trying very hard to come home to us._ She longed to say those words aloud to comfort her friend, but she couldn't betray Sherlock.

"She had me talk about how he changed my life." He shook his head and smiled ruefully at her. "I didn't realise just how much better my life became after I met him until I was forced to talk about it. I mean, I've always appreciated his friendship, even if he was the most unusual friend. But I hadn't had time to look - I mean, really look - at his impact in my life." His bitter laugh broke Molly's heart. "I had so much to say that she let me talk through them even when our time was up."

She squeezed his hand again. "Did it make you feel better?"

John waited until their orders were placed on the table before answering. "Oh, yeah. But it didn't stop me from blubbering like a baby. I just wish he hadn't killed himself, you know? I could've helped him defeat Moriarty. But the fucking git chose to jump off the rooftop instead of asking me for help," he said bitterly.

Molly wanted to tell him that Sherlock did that to protect him, to save his life. "Perhaps you should write about that on your blog. It may help ease the pain."

"I don't know." He shook his head. "It's too private to be put on the blog. I'm also avoiding the hurtful comments about Sherlock. I know it's been almost two years. But reading them still makes me want to punch things. Actually, I'm thinking of deleting the blog. I can't-"

"Why?" John stared at her with his mouth open. "I mean, do you really have to?" she elaborated in a quieter voice.

"Why not? It's just a painful reminder of the past."

"Sometime in the future, reading your posts about Sherlock and your cases won't be so painful anymore. I may not be a psychologist, but I know how it feels."

"Why? Did you lose someone?"

She gripped both his hands and looked him in the eye. "My dad died a few years ago after a long battle with cancer. Since I'm an only child and my mum has remarried, I inherited his books, his favourite armchair, his clothes, his letters, everything. I kept some of his books and a few shirts, but I put everything else into storage." She paused to wipe away a tear with the heel of her hand. "Every day following his funeral, I'd go to the storage unit and cry. You see, we were very close and I missed him so much. Several months later, I stopped crying. I mean, I still missed him. But when I'd wear his shirt or read his books, I'd remember the good times that we shared." She paused to take a deep breath. "What I'm trying to say is that the sense of loss remains, but it stops being the focus. And then the healing starts."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know about your dad," John said as he tightened his grip on her hands.

"Thanks. I know it's not the same with Sherlock and it may take longer with you. But you'll get there. So please don't delete your posts or your entire blog. Use it to persuade those who believe the rubbish in the papers that Sherlock's genius was real. Please, John?"

The former army doctor nodded slowly. "OK," he agreed. He took a sip of his coffee. "Thank you, Molly. I don't think I'd be able to survive my post-Sherlock life without you."

Molly smiled at the faint blush that covered his cheeks. "You're welcome, John. I'll always be here for you if you need anything."

He stared at her. "What about you? How are you holding up?"

She shrugged. "I don't know, actually. I'm just taking things one day at a time. You know, get up, go to work, go home, sleep, and then do it all over again. My girlfriends and I go out for coffee or drinks sometimes. But I still dream of him. I still expect him to barge into the morgue or the lab as if he owned St. Bart's. When he doesn't, which is always, I get really sad. When I've had a particularly hard day, I give in and cry." She sighed.

Molly didn't tell John that she also cried because she hadn't heard from Sherlock and she was worried. He normally texted at least once a month to let her know that he was alive. But it had been three months and she hadn't received anything from him. Her chest tightened at the thought that he was lying dead somewhere in Europe or in America. _But Mycroft would have told me something if that were the case, right?_

"You still love him?"

"Yes," she replied without hesitation. She loved Sherlock more than she ever thought she would.

John nodded. "So if I asked you if you'd like to go to dinner with me, you would say..."

Molly folded her arms and looked down on her cooling coffee. She looked back up at him and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, but I'd say no." Whether or not Sherlock came back to her, John would always be like an older brother to her, nothing more.

He nodded again. "I see." A slow smile formed on his lips. "You're not going to set me up with someone else, like you did with Lestrade, are you?"

She laughed. "It worked out well for him, didn't it?"

"Yes, it did. You're obviously invited to the wedding, right?"

She nodded. "Well, Rebecca actually asked me to be her maid of honour." Her eyes twinkled with mischief. "We're already planning the hen night."

John laughed. "I bet you are. How kinky-" He paused before cursing loudly as ice-cold caramel liquid spread over his shirt. He and Molly turned to see a well-dressed blonde woman watching him in horror.

When Molly looked up for a moment from wiping the iced coffee off him, she saw the woman standing frozen and staring at John. Her hands covered her mouth and her eyes were wide in mortification. "Shit!" she exclaimed when she recovered. She dropped her hands on his wet shoulder. "I'm really sorry! Oh, my God, I am so, so, so sorry!" She took a clump of napkins from the dispenser and helped Molly mop up the coffee on John and on the table. "Someone bumped against me and now I've ruined your shirt. I am so sorry!"

To Molly's surprise, John only laughed and began helping the women clean him up. "That's all right." He smiled at the stranger. "Thank God it wasn't hot."

The blonde woman blushed and then paled. "I know, I know. I'm sorry." Her voice was calmer now, though her hands were frantically wiping the remains of her coffee off John. "It's partly my fault, actually. I'm just so nervous today. I had a job interview at the crèche near St. Bart's." She glanced at the two. "Do you guys know that place?"

Molly and John exchanged smiles. "I work there," she said, smiling at the stranger.

"I, uh, used to spend a lot of time there," said John. His cheeks turned faintly pink when the blonde woman's gaze fell on him.

"Are you two-?" she asked, her eyes darting from Molly to John, and back again.

The pathologist laughed. "Oh, no, no. We're friends. I'm Molly Hooper, by the way," she said as she extended her hand towards the other woman.

"I'm Mary Morstan." Mary smiled brightly at the brunette. "Pleased to meet you."

"Pleased to meet you too." She turned to John. "This is Dr John Watson. He was an army doctor in Afghanistan. He's also single." Molly winked at her friend, who blushed but grinned wider.

Mary shook his hand and smiled even more brightly at him. "Didn't you blog about that detective Sherlock Holmes?" she asked as she sat next to him.

John kept the smile on his face despite the sadness that crept into his eyes. "Yes, I did."

She gazed at him with sympathetic eyes. "I'm so sorry for your loss. I used to follow the cases on your blog. I thought he was brilliant."

"Thank you. He was."

"I never believed the papers, you know. I think it's absolute bollocks that he would lie about those cases and hire actors to be criminals just so people could see his genius." She opened her purse and rummaged through the contents until she removed an 'I Believe in Sherlock Holmes' pinback button. "I bet you have plenty of these."

"We have a few of those, yes," Molly answered.

"Who makes those anyway?" asked John.

Mary paused to think. "I'm not sure, actually. I've seen people pass them around, but the buttons themselves don't say who makes them. Whoever they are, I think they make the posters as well."

"Posters?" John asked, leaning closer to Mary.

"I've seen those around the hospital, John," Molly said. "Especially on the phone box and the wall close to where he, uh, fell." She picked up her mobile and searched through the photos. "I took some photos of the posters one morning I got off work." She showed them to John, while Mary half-rose from her seat to look at them. Artistic graphics featuring the statements 'I Believe in Sherlock Holmes,' 'James Moriarty Was Real,' and 'We Fight John Watson's War' adorned the wall facing the pavement on which Sherlock fell, as well as the phone box and the benches nearest the spot.

"They're all over London, too," Mary added.

John was nodding and smiling at Mary when his mobile rang. He looked at the display and groaned.

"Is everything all right?" Molly asked.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Yeah. It's just my sister. Sorry, I have to take this," he answered as he rose from his seat. "I'll be right back." He smiled at the women before exiting the café.

"He hasn't written anything on his blog," Mary remarked as she watched John's jaw clench.

Molly glanced at her friend. _Harry must have fallen off the wagon again_ , she speculated. She smiled at Mary after a moment. "Yeah, you're right. John has been busy with work, not to mention trying to move on. He wasn't just Sherlock's blogger, you know. He was also his best friend and flatmate, so he was most affected by Sherlock's death."

"I see. Well, I hope he keeps the blog and writes on it again. Let his posts be proof of Sherlock Holmes's genius."

"That's what I've been telling him." She glanced at John, who still seemed to be arguing with his sister.

"How did you know Sherlock Holmes?"

"I met him at St. Bart's, actually. During my first week at the hospital, he barged into my morgue and demanded to see the exact body that I was working on. Since then, I'd done a number of post-mortems for his cases. I also assisted him in the lab work for his cases and for his experiments."

"How was he as a colleague?" Mary leaned towards Molly.

The pathologist smiled and her eyes brightened. "He had one of the greatest minds on the planet. I can't even begin to describe how his brain worked. But he could figure out how pieces of the puzzle connected with each other even if they didn't seem to be connected at all. I used to love seeing his face light up and his eyes shine when he'd figure things out."

Mary smiled. "So he was like a kid, eh?"

She laughed. "You have no idea!"

The blonde woman laughed along with her. "He was handsome in a posh and unattainable way, though. Did you fancy him?"

She blushed. "Yes, yes, I did. How could I not? He was a fucking genius and he had a beautiful face."

"It's the cheekbones, eh?" Mary winked at Molly.

The pathologist nodded vigorously. "Yes. And the eyes, the hair, the lips, the-"

"Lips?" the blonde asked as John returned from his phone conversation with his sister.

"Well, uh, he had those gorgeous Cupid's bow lips." She was sure her face was tomato-red, as she recalled the feel of those lips on hers. She glanced at John, who was giving her a curious look. "What?" she asked, her heart thumping in her throat in fear that he had figured out the truth about Sherlock's death.

"Were you together before he died?" He narrowed his eyes at her.

"What?" She laughed, partly in relief. "Together?"

His face turned red and his eyes left her face. "I mean-" he stammered. "I mean, were you dating when he died? As in, secretly dating?"

"What? No! Not at all." She giggled and ignored the stab of guilt. _Well, we weren't_ , she reasoned to herself. "Where did you get that idea?"

"You blushed when you were gushing over his lips."

"What does that have to do with anything? That's nothing new. I mean, they've always given me naughty, naughty thoughts. Thank God I'm usually alone in the morgue."

John still looked curiously at her but said nothing. Mary, on the other hand, was laughing her head off. "I bet you were thinking of his lips on you." The mischievous glint in her eyes matched Molly's.

"Oh, honey, you have no idea!"

John had stopped his curious staring at Molly and was now acting as if he were scandalised by the women's conversation. "Ladies, ladies, _ladies_!" He raised his hands, palms up, and shook his head, to the women's delight.

The pathologist rolled her eyes at John. She winked as she turned to Mary. "So how did the interview go? It must have been nerve-racking if you're still spilling coffee after it's done," she teased.

The blonde woman laughed. "It was. Oh, my God. I've never been so nervous in my life. I spent ten years in Cardiff as a primary school teacher and I'd just come back. I'm not used to being back to London yet." She sighed. "But I think it went well. They asked me if I had any holidays planned and I said no. That's a good thing, right?"

The brunette nodded. "I think so. Perhaps you're on a shortlist or something."

Mary crossed her fingers. "Oh, I hope so. If I get the job, then we can probably get lunch together." She gave Molly a hopeful smile.

She laughed again. "Well, it depends on the shifts assigned to me. But if I get day shifts, then hell yes."

"Molly, is Barts still looking for full-time surgeons? Or perhaps GPs?"

The pathologist turned to John. "Yeah, I think so. Why don't you check with Dr Stamford? I'm sure he'll get you in if you wanted to. Why?"

He flushed. "Well, the surgery doesn't give me as many hours as I would like. It means I have too much time on my hands."

"And it makes you think too much." Mary reached for his hands and squeezed them. The pain that flashed across the blonde woman's eyes made Molly wonder if she knew exactly what John was going through.

John only nodded and said, "Exactly. Thank you."

"So how's Harry?" Molly asked after a moment's silence.

John cleared his throat before answering. "She, uh, fell off the wagon last night. Threw away two months of sobriety, all because she saw her ex with somebody else." He took a deep breath and shook his head. "By the way, I've made a decision about the blog."

"And?" Molly prompted. _Please don't delete it_ , she silently prayed.

"I'm not deleting the case posts on my blog and my blog itself. You're right. I can use the blog to prove that Sherlock was a real genius. I just have to figure out how to do that."

"That's great. If you need help with anything, just let me know, all right?" Molly smiled at him.

"Of course." He freed a hand from Mary's grasp and held Molly's.

"I'm glad," Mary remarked as she smiled at John.

A ringing mobile interrupted the moment that the three shared. John removed his mobile from his pocket and answered the call. "Hi, Heather." He listened for a few moments before nodding. "I see. All right. I'm on my way. See you in a bit." He ended the call and smiled at the women. "Sorry, ladies, but I've gotta go. Got an emergency at the surgery."

"That's all right," Molly said. "I'll take care of the bill," she added when he removed his wallet. "Just go."

John kissed her on her forehead. "You're the best, Molly Hooper. Thank you." He turned to Mary. "It was a pleasure to meet you."

She smiled at him. "Lovely to meet you. And I'm really sorry for spilling iced coffee on you. I hope you have an extra shirt in your locker at work!"

John's laugh reminded Molly of the good old days before Sherlock left. She smiled to herself as the two stared at each other. _I think Mary will be good for John_ , she thought.

"I'll completely forgive you if you go to dinner with me." He stood gazing at Mary with eyes that could melt any other woman's heart.

The blonde woman's face lit up. "I thought you'd never ask." She took a napkin and wrote her phone number on it. She handed it to John with a bright smile and a wink.

He pocketed the napkin and smiled bashfully at Mary. He nodded at the grinning Molly and left the café without another word.

"So," Molly said as she watched Mary smile to herself. "Should I shop for dresses to wear at your wedding now?"

She laughed. "Perhaps." She shifted in her seat until she was facing Molly. "How is he with women? I mean, does he treat his girlfriends well?"

"I've only really seen him flirt with women. I heard he dated a doctor from the surgery, but they broke up after a while. I met a girlfriend of his once, at a Christmas party at his flat, but I haven't seen her since." She frowned when she saw Mary's face fall. "Um, Sherlock told me once that John's relationships failed because they didn't like sharing their boyfriend with him. He used to go off with Sherlock for cases, which constantly ruined dates. Honestly, though, I think another reason his relationships failed is that they weren't right for him."

Mary considered what she said. "What about me? Do you think I'm right for him?"

Molly regarded her for a minute. "Perhaps. I mean, we've only just met. It's too early to tell." She smiled at Mary. "He probably thinks so. I haven't seen him flirt with anyone since Sherlock died." She grinned wider as she watched her new friend blush.

Fifteen minutes later, Molly and Mary bade each other goodbye after exchanging phone numbers and e-mail addresses. "Call me immediately after your date with John, all right?"

Mary laughed. "He hasn't even called!"

The pathologist winked at her. "Trust me, he'll call tonight. Perhaps on his first coffee break."

"All right. You'll owe me a drink or two if you're wrong."

"You're on!" she said, smiling at her new friend as Mary hailed a cab. She waved her goodbye as her cab drove away. After a few tries, a cab stopped for her. She told the cabbie her address and dropped her tired head on the cushion. She took a deep breath as she prayed that Mary Morstan was the right woman for John Watson. The beep of her mobile's text alert jolted her out of her thoughts. _Please, tell me it's Sherlock_ , she thought.

She frowned when she saw that it was a number she didn't recognise.

It's me. - S

Thank God you're alive! What happened to your old number? - xM

I got in trouble after I mentioned L by name, so my brother gave me a new, supposedly more secured mobile. - S

WHAT? ARE YOU OK? - xM

Calm down. Yes, I am. Now. - S

What actually happened? - xM

Someone in the web was cleverer than I expected and tried to kill me. - S

How did they try to kill you? - xM

It's not important. I'm alive. - S

Well, did they injure you? Did you kill them? - xM

Yes and yes. That's all you're getting because I know you're worrying now. - S

I've been worried about you for three months! And I was right to worry! - xM

Would you relax? I'm fine. I'll be more careful next time. - S

You should be. I'm crying right now because of you, you clot. - xM

Why are you crying? I AM ALL RIGHT. ALL HEALED. Happy? - S

Will you show me the scars when you come home? - xM

I don't know how that would help you. But if that's what you want, sure. - S

So why are you only contacting me now? - xM

I've had to lie low for a while. I had to make the clever ones in the web believe that I've stopped hunting them down. - S

So what have you been doing these past three months? - xM

Thinking about you. - S

She covered her mouth with one hand to keep herself from squealing as she stared at his words.

"Miss, we're here." The cabbie's gruff voice made her look up and out the window. She hurriedly pulled out notes from her wallet. Only half-listening to the cabbie's thanks, she exited the cab and entered her building.

Toby was lounging on the armrest of the couch when she came in. He opened one eye and went back to sleep. She went straight to the closet to retrieve the purple box and removed Sherlock's scarf as she sat down on her bed.

Are you still there? - S

Yes. So how are you? - xM

I told you I'm all right. How's everyone? - S

They're doing really well. L's getting married, M is going on a cruise with her sister, and J may be working at the hospital full-time. - xM

You've been meeting J for coffee. How can you let yourself be one of his conquests? - S

What are you talking about? You asked me to look after everyone. He and I meet for coffee so we can talk. - xM

And what do you talk about? - S

Mostly, you. He's at the stage where he's thinking of ways things could have been different. - xM

He's doing better now, but he still misses you. - xM

I see. So you're not dating anyone? - S

Nope. Not until you come home. - xM

Are you sure you're not better off being with J or L? - S

Damn sure. They're lovely and honourable men. But they're not you. - xM

Plus L is getting married! - xM

What if I don't come back? - S

Then I'll be devastated and heartbroken. But please don't die. - xM

What if I come back with a severe and permanent injury? - S

Then I'll be happy you're alive and I'll take care of you. - xM

What if I come back disfigured? - S

Refer to my previous answer. - xM

What if I come back and I'm not as sharp or as clever as I was? - S

Again, refer to my previous answer. - xM

Why? - S

What do you mean? - xM

Surely you won't find me attractive anymore. - S

After all I've done for you, you think I'll abandon you because of any injury or PTSD or whatever? - xM

Do you remember how you hurt me with your harsh deductions? Do you remember that Christmas party at your flat? - xM

Yes. I have apologised for that. - S

Shush. Do you remember how you ruined my dates and relationships? Do you remember how you didn't make me feel that I counted? - xM

Yes. I apologise for that. - S

See? I care about you despite all that. - xM

Disfigurement or permanent injury won't affect my feelings for you. - xM

Thank you. - S

You're welcome. When will you come home? - xM

Soon. - S

How's my scarf? - xM

It's fine. I've managed to keep blood off it. How's mine? - S

It's fine. I still keep it in a box since I can't use it. - xM

I miss you. - xM

Sherlock didn't reply for a few minutes. Molly's face fell and she clutched his scarf to her chest. She stared at her mobile when it started ringing. She dropped the blue scarf as she reluctantly answered the call. "Hello?"

"I miss you too."

The deep baritone that she hadn't heard in nearly two years made her gasp. She picked up the scarf again and held it to her chest. _He sounded so lonely_ , she thought. But he said nothing else and soon the dial tone filled her ear. She let the tears flow and her sobs filled the room. _God, I've missed his voice_ , she thought, his scarf and her mobile in her hands. She looked at her mobile in surprise when it beeped again.

If you tell anyone I said that, I'll deny it with all my being. - S

Despite the tears still staining her cheeks, Molly laughed.

I bet you would. But thank you for that. - xM

You're welcome. Listen, I have to go. - S

OK. Please text me in a few weeks if you're still alive, all right? - xM

Yes, ma'am. Take care of yourself. - S

Will do. Please tell me you're eating and sleeping. - xM

As well as I can. - S

Goodnight. - xM

Goodnight. - S

Molly carefully rewrapped the blue scarf in the tissue paper and put it back in the box. She returned the box in the closet and left her bedroom to feed Toby. When she came back to retrieve her mobile, she saw another text from Sherlock.

Does my voice sexually arouse you? - S

"What?" she exclaimed as her cheeks turned crimson. She smirked as she tapped out a reply.

As if you didn't already know the answer to that question. - xM

I thought so. - S

Two hours later, Molly got an MMS from Sherlock. She opened the attachment and bit her lip as she listened to him saying her name in his deepest - and sexiest - voice.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this for over a month. And then BBC decides to release a photo that seems to sink our ship. So I'm deleting that photo from my mind bungalow (haha) until The Empty Hearse airs. Hell, screw canon. I will go down with this ship.
> 
> Anyhoo, thoughts? Like it? Love it? Hate it?


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